Heaven and Earth
by Yahtzee
Summary: The birth of Betty and Daniel's baby doesn't go as planned. This is set in the future of my story "MODE: Final Issue!," but you can follow this story fine without that one. Final two chapters have been added - story now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Heaven and Earth **

One.

"Name?" the attending nurse asks briskly.

"Betty Suarez Meade. I've been seeing Doctor Prasad. She shouldn't have left town on her vacation yet." Betty places her hands on her broad belly and says to the baby within, "Perfect timing. Except for the whole middle-of-the-night thing."

"Can Doctor Prasad even get here?" Daniel's as jittery as Betty is calm; it makes her smile to see him bouncing on his heels as they settle her into her hospital bed. "The Tube isn't running any more. It doesn't start up again until, what, five in the morning? You could have the baby before then."

The nurse and Betty exchange knowing looks. Betty quietly points out, "I'm pretty sure she owns a car, Daniel."

"Oh. Right." He smiles, abashed, but then worry creases his forehead again. "If she doesn't, she'll take a taxi, won't she? I'll pay."

"First baby?" the nurse says to Betty.

"How did you guess?"

"You've a while to go yet, and Doctor Prasad is already on her way in. Should be here any moment." The nurse pats Daniel's arm in a motherly fashion. "We'll be in to check on you again in just a few minutes."

Once the nurse is gone, and they're alone, Daniel begins pacing, the very cliché of an expectant father. "Okay. We grabbed the overnight bag. We grabbed the tennis balls – didn't we? I need those for your back."

"The tennis balls are in the overnight bag." Betty feels slightly nauseated and wishes she hadn't eaten chicken vindaloo for dinner. On the other hand, maybe the spicy Indian food is what brought labor on.

"I didn't bring our passports."

"Daniel, I'm giving birth, not flying to Switzerland."

"But what if they want to check our ID?"

"What does it matter who they think we are? They can tell a baby's about to come out of me, and honestly, at this point, that's all I care about."

Her voice must have been sharper than she realized, because Daniel sits in the chair beside her bed and takes her hand. "Sorry I'm such a basket case," he says. "I need to be taking care of you, not freaking out like a 12-year-old on the Haunted Mansion Ride at Disney World."

"It's okay. It is." One of the few irritations in her marriage to Daniel is how needy he can be, but at this point, Betty understand that making Daniel not be needy would require stopping his father from obsessing about Alex, and getting his mother into rehab years earlier – basically, it would require a time machine. Until one is invented, she's willing to take the man she loves on his own terms. "I'm kind of crabby. You know – no sleep, hospital smell, the fact that I'm about to push something the size of a watermelon out a canal as wide as a lemon – " Daniel's face goes almost white, which makes Betty laugh despite herself. Better spirits restored, she adds, "Later on, when we get to the whole – you know, the pushy part, I'll probably be the one freaking out. If you promise to be calm for me then, you can panic all you want now."

"Deal." Daniel holds her hand to his face and kisses her palm.

She thinks about what he said earlier and frowns. "Isn't 12 a little old to be afraid of the Haunted Mansion Ride?"

"Some people think holograms are really creepy, okay?"

This time, she laughs until the next contraction steals her breath.

They get her settled into her private room—Daniel insisted on private insurance for this, and after a while, Betty finds she's grateful they have the space to themselves. It's invasive enough, having doctors and nurses peering and poking at your vajayjay, without dealing with somebody else's labor and delivery a few feet away. And this way Daniel gets to arrange the room just the way she likes it. She smiles as he puts the small stuffed giraffe they bought on the windowsill, waiting for their baby's fist.

Besides, during quieter moments, she gets to be alone with Daniel. These are the last hours they'll have as just Betty and Daniel; soon they'll be a family, and as much as she's looking forward to that, she feels the loss of what used to be.

"Last chance to come up with a boy's name," Daniel says as she crunches on some ice chips. Monitors blink and beep all around her, and straps around her belly wait for another contraction to come. "Time is running out."

"Probably it's a girl. That's why we decided on 'Estella' so easily. We know it down deep."

"We could've known for sure if you would've let Dr. Prasad tell us. Honestly, Betty, we're about the last people in the Western world not to know the sex of our baby. Someday they'll write about us in history books."

She swats at his arm. "I want to be surprised. You'll see. It's going to be fun. Aren't you even a little glad we didn't find out before now?"

"Maybe a little. But I'd be gladder if we knew what we'd call a son."

It's been quite a debate. Daniel has made peace with his memories of his father, but he doesn't want to call a boy "Bradford." Betty would happily name the baby after her dad, but Papi has sworn that if they saddle another innocent infant with "Ignacio," he will sue for primary custody on grounds of parental unfitness. They could both live with Daniel Jr., but DJ beat them to it. So much for naming a boy after anyone. Coming up with original names has shown just how different they are – Daniel is insistent on picking something Latino, for her heritage, whereas Betty doesn't really care as much. Daniel generally prefers longer, more emphatic names; Betty wants something short and to the point.

Once she remembered something Daniel had idly said about liking the name Philip, and she suggested it, only to see his face fall. It turned out that he'd liked it so much he and Molly had decided on that name for a boy, if they ever got lucky enough to have kids. So Philip is out too.

"Maybe I'll name a boy after the first man I see after I give birth," she says. "Besides you, of course."

Daniel laughs. "No way am I ending up with a son named 'Anesthesiologist On Duty Meade.'"

Settling back into her pillows, Betty sighs. "We'll think of something. But like I said, it's probably a girl."

"Wouldn't be the first time you were right." After he kisses her on her forehead, he turns to his iPhone, the better to text family and friends about the impending event. There will be messages for all their friends in London, including Christina, who despite the early hour is likely to show up at the hospital before the baby does; for their families in New York City; and for Alexis and her fiancé Gareth, who are traveling in India for another week yet. Gareth made Betty swear on a case of Glenfiddich that she wouldn't give birth before he returned; she muses that, if she has to pay up, at least the result will be one hell of a party.

As Daniel types with his thumbs, a nurse comes in for a simple check, and Betty notices her eyes flicking from Daniel, to Betty, and back again. No doubt, to the casual observer, they make an odder pair than ever. She isn't exactly looking her best, with frowsy pre-dawn hair, extra baby pounds and a hospital gown that isn't really designed to be flattering. Daniel got dressed in about sixty seconds, in the dark, and yet still managed to grab designer jeans and a body-hugging black T-shirt. Plus, his hair actually looks good rumpled. It's like he was born with a style gene or something. Hopefully the baby will inherit it.

He's sleek; she's frizzy. He's frantic; she's still. Once again, she knows she could never explain to this nurse or anyone else precisely why they're right for each other, but that's okay; she doesn't have to. She just gets to live it. As the nurse walks out, Betty smiles in private satisfaction.

Another contraction clamps around her, only slightly stronger than before. Not bad yet, Betty thinks – and then she feels a weird sinking sensation. Like she'd managed to come down with a terrible case of the flu in five seconds flat.

"Ugh," she says.

"Bad one?" Daniel takes her hand.

"I don't feel so good." Betty takes a deep breath to clear her head – or she tries to. Her lungs won't let her do it. She tries again, gasping hard, but there's even less room for air than before.

Daniel rises to his feet, and his fingers tighten around hers. "Betty? What's wrong?"

When Betty turns to look at him, the room swims, and everything seems too dim and too dark. Grayed out. Her fingers tug at the front of her hospital gown, but it's not choking her. She's being choked from within.

"I can't breathe," she says, and Daniel's eyes go wide.

And that's when the heavy fist inside her clamps down hard, blotting out breath, and light, and the whole world.


	2. Chapter 2

Two.

After Betty faints, it seems to Daniel that it takes him forever to yell for the nurse, though actually he calls for help within the second. It's just that time has changed. The whole world has slowed down, gone wrong, turned into the shadow of itself.

Betty twitches, and for a moment Daniel thinks she's going to sit up and tell him she's fine now. But then the twitch becomes a jerk, and she goes into a seizure, which strikes him almost blind with terror. The monitors around her howl and whine, and Daniel tries to steady her – but the medical staff is finally there (within three seconds, a lifetime), and they're pulling him away.

"What's happening to Betty?" He grabs at the doorframe, bodily resisting their attempt to remove him from the room. "She said she couldn't breathe. What's going on?"

"Sir, stay calm."

"Like hell I'm going to be calm when Betty –" Daniel's voice runs dry, because he doesn't know what's happening.

He hears a nurse say, "No respiration!" and through the tangle of people he glimpses Betty's face for a moment. She's turning blue.

"Oh, God." Daniel tries to charge back into the room, but another nurse – a small woman not even as tall as Betty, but with more strength than you'd think - blocks his way.

"You need to let us help her now," she says in a soft Northern accent. "That's the best thing you can do for your wife. Let us do what we have to do."

He surrenders to her, because it's something he can do for Betty. She steers him down the hallway into a waiting room, which is otherwise empty. Then the nurse takes off back toward Betty, and Daniel is as alone as he's ever been in his life.

It's not like he didn't know something could go wrong. They went over a few things in birthing class – pre-eclampsia, postpartum infection – but not this, whatever the hell this is. They never said Betty could be fine one breath, and the next –

His iPhone rings, still in his pocket; the sound makes Daniel jump, but he grabs for the phone, as though it might be someone with news. "Hello?"

"Hey there!" Hilda sing-songs into the phone. "Okay, I know it's, like, dawn in England, and you probably have hours to go yet, but I got your text and I just had to call. I'm so excited! Are you guys at the hospital?"

"Yeah." Her good cheer rushes over Daniel like a bucket of icewater, deepening his shock. It's like Hilda's in the other, better world he just got thrown out of, and he doesn't understand how both worlds can exist at once.

"How's Betty doing?"

The question snaps Daniel back into reality. "Hilda, are you alone?"

"Huh? Stephanie's in the next room. Why? You gotta talk about lady parts? News flash: I have those. No need to be shy on my account."

He swallows hard. "Something's gone wrong."

"What do you mean?" Hilda's voice gets quieter with every word.

"One minute Betty was fine, and everything was normal, and then – then she passed out, and she had a seizure, and now I don't know what's going on. They made me leave the room."

"It's not – it couldn't be anything serious. Right? It couldn't be. Maybe she had a reaction to the drugs."

"She hadn't been given any drugs yet," Daniel says. He hates to add this, but he knows this isn't the time to be gentle with the truth. "I think – I don't think Betty was breathing when I left."

"Oh, my holy God." Then there's a small sound that he knows is Hilda starting to cry.

It's easier to think about Hilda's emotions than his own. "You should hang up and call Bobby. Or your father. Somebody should be with you right now."

"We are NOT telling Papi about this until we know exactly what's going on. He's gonna lose it. What about you? Who's there with you?"

"No one."

"Screw that," she says fiercely, and he can hear her sniffing back tears. "I'm staying on the line until somebody shows up to tell you what's what."

"I can't talk. I can't even think straight."

"You ain't gotta talk. You just – you hang on. And I'm right here. Okay?"

"Okay." Daniel doesn't think he's ever loved Hilda as much as he does right at that second.

The silence between them stretches out, with only the sound of Hilda crying on the other end of the line. It beats being alone, but it's still hell. Daniel keeps seeing Betty go into seizure, over and over, and somehow repetition makes the memory even more horrible. So he tries to think of other, better moments. For some reason he gets stuck on another bad one – signing her release to leave MODE, just before she left for London, long before he realized he'd have to follow her there. He pictures it over and over: hesitating with the pen in his hand, feeling the lump in his throat, wanting another option but knowing there really wasn't one. And Betty sitting there, hopeful and mournful at once, close to him but still too far.

After what seems like forever, Doctor Prasad walks in. Locks of her charcoal-colored hair have fallen free from their usual bun: this from someone he and Betty have sometimes called "Doctor Uptight." Daniel knows without being told that she got mussed while she was treating Betty, fighting to make her breathe again. "The doctor's here," Daniel says. "I'll call you back as soon as we're done."

Hilda gulps in a breath. "Is she smiling?"

"No." And then there's nothing else he can say. Daniel hangs up before he can hear Hilda cry any more. "How's Betty?"

Doctor Prasad sits by his side before she answers; it's almost as scary as anything else that has happened tonight. "We just delivered your son by emergency C-section. He appears healthy, but given the situation, we'll have to keep him under observation to be sure there's been no damage."

_My son. I have a son. _ There's a place inside Daniel where joy ought to be, but the fear has walled that place away. "You haven't told me how Betty is. What happened?"

"I won't be sure until we've run some more tests, but I'm almost positive that Betty has suffered a rare complication of labor." Doctor Prasad puts her hand on his shoulder. "It's called an amniotic fluid embolism, and it happens when amniotic fluid somehow enters the mother's bloodstream. First it goes into the lungs and hampers breathing; then it enters the heart. When that happens, the mother can go into cardiac arrest. We were able to get Betty's heart beating again –"

He hadn't realized until now that it had stopped.

"—but she's still not breathing on her own, and she's bleeding heavily. There is often a hemorrhagic stage after the immediate crisis. That makes the situation even more troubling."

Daniel has so many questions, so much anger, so much fear, that he doesn't know what to say. So he asks himself what Betty would say, and finds that it's what he needs to know most, too: They need to know their child is well. "Why is our baby under observation?"

"When the mother stops breathing, oxygen stops flowing to the baby. In this case, though, we were able to operate very quickly. I don't think we're looking at any serious long-term medical issues for your son. We just want to make sure that he's breathing well and remains stable for the next eight hours or so." One corner of Doctor Prasad's mouth lifts in something that isn't quite a smile. "Given that he weighs six pounds and cries as loudly as any baby I've ever seen, I suspect he'll be fine."

And there's the joy – just a moment, just a flicker, but it's something for Daniel to hold on to.

"And Betty? You can stop the bleeding, right? And then she'll – she'll get her breath again."

Doctor Prasad's smile, such as it was, fades. "That is my hope. But there are very few guarantees in cases such as this. Many mothers recover with no lasting health issues at all. In other cases – when breathing has stopped – brain damage can result. Betty was revived slightly after the window of safety. Her brain may be unaffected, but I'm afraid I can't rule out lasting effects."

The words are so ugly, so vile, that Daniel almost wants to hit the doctor for saying them out loud. As though she were cursing at him instead of telling him what he needs to know. Then the reality behind the words starts to sink in, and he feels dizzy. "She'll live, though. Betty's going to recover."

"You need to understand that amniotic fluid embolism often creates a kind of – systemic failure throughout the body. The hemorrhagic stage can be a sign that this has begun. This condition has a very high maternal mortality rate."

"How high?"

She doesn't like telling him this, he can see. "Approximately 60 percent."

60 percent. That's a majority. Most. Most women this happens to die. It crashes into him.

"You improved her odds," Doctor Prasad says. "First you came into the hospital early in labor. When this happens to a pregnant woman at home, we almost always lose both mother and child. Then you were able to tell the nurses that Betty complained of trouble breathing. That let us know what we were dealing with right away."

"Okay," he says, though he can't see how it matters. Betty was here in the hospital, and they know what the problem is, and she's still fighting for her life. Bleeding. Not breathing.

Doctor Prasad says, "Call your family and your friends. You shouldn't be alone. And don't give up hope."

"I won't." Giving up hope is the same thing as giving up Betty, and Daniel won't do it. He just keeps repeating to himself, _It's going to be all right. It's going to be all right._

If he keeps repeating it, maybe he can begin to believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

Three. 

Betty stands in a long corridor. It reminds her vaguely of her middle school: darker walls, lighter floor – yes, there are the same kinds of chips and scuffs on the linoleum beneath her feet.

She isn't sure how long she's been in the corridor, and it doesn't much seem to matter. Time is irrelevant, here. Nothing is quick, nothing is slow. There's only now. Betty feels as relaxed, as deeply at peace, as she ever has. She doesn't particularly like this corridor, but she knows without being told that it's just a passageway.

At some point, now and yet not now, she sees that there are doors on either side of her. Obviously she is meant to walk through one of them, but which one?

The doorway on her left seems to lead someplace noisy. There's fear behind that door, anger, chaos. And yet – change is possible there. It's not anyplace bad, Betty senses; it's more like a place to admit that you need to figure some things out. A place for transformation.

The doorway on her right leads to quietness. Stillness. It seems naturally more welcoming and beautiful to her, and yet that stillness is intimidating, too.

"Hey, Betty."

She turns back to her left to see a handsome man standing in the doorway, wearing the same lazy, cocky grin she remembers. "Santos!"

"Surprised to see me?"

"No," she says, and it's true; his presence feels like the most natural thing in the world. "I'm more surprised you're all dressed up."

"Wanted to look nice for Justin's play." Santos holds out the hem of his blazer, does a half turn. "Pretty damn sharp, if I say so myself. Good thing, too. On this side, you're pretty much stuck in the outfit you died in."

Betty looks down to see the tentlike hospital gown on her body. Come to think of it, it does feel a bit drafty in back. "Oh, great."

"Don't worry about it. Plenty of people got those on over here." He leans a little closer. "Plus, you would not believe how many people die naked. Not necessarily attractive people, either. Be glad you've got anything, am I right?"

"Guess so." The words "you died" echo briefly in her mind – they seem important – but Betty finds she can't focus on them. She doesn't feel sad or frightened, only curious. "Santos, what's behind that door?"

"Can't tell you."

"I have to guess?"

"That's not it." Santos appears unusually solemn. "I mean, it's not the kind of thing we have words for. I literally can't tell you. About as close as I could get would be something like – 'waiting room.' But that's not it either."

Betty glances to her right. "And what's through the other door?"

He shrugs and smiles, but ruefully. "I guess that's what we're waiting for."

"Neither way is wrong," she says, very sure of this even before Santos nods. "So how do you choose?"

"Are you happy with who you are? Or do you need to change?" He steps a little closer, though it seems to her he can't go too far from the door on the left. "In other words, which door makes you feel scared, and which one makes you feel strong?"

Put that way, the choice is simple. "I think I'm heading in the other direction."

"Figures," Santos says. "You always had a good head on your shoulders, Betty. You knew how to be decent to people."

"You were doing a lot better by the end yourself."

"Not enough." He edges closer – perhaps to the brink of where he can travel, because he's pale now, almost translucent. This, too, seems natural. "Tell me: How are they?"

"They're amazing. Justin studied performing arts at UCLA, and he's living in Hollywood now, trying to break in. He's already done a couple of commercials – you turn on the TV, and there he is, eating Doritos, and you're like, wow!"

"Hey, that's awesome! He gets that from me, you know. I love Doritos."

"He has a new boyfriend – Sam, from Maine. He's sweet; they visited us in London this summer. I think Justin's really happy."

Only after Betty says it does she remember that, once, Santos would have had a problem with Justin having a boyfriend – a state of mind that seems even more alien to her here than it did before. But Santos just smiles and nods. "Good. I want him happy. And my Hilda?"

"She's doing so well. Hilda became a hairstylist, and she even works with some celebrities and magazine photographers, people like that. She loves it. And she finally got married – to Bobby Tercino, remember him?"

"That tool? Dude, it took me six months to break them up back in high school, and then he gets her in the end?" But Santos is laughing as he says it; the outrage is a joke, no more. "Yeah, that's the way it goes. Bobby taking care of her?"

"Absolutely. They had a daughter together about three years ago. Stephanie."

His expression is soft. "Hilda always did want a little girl. Good for her. Good for all of them."

And then now isn't now any longer – time has returned, only gently, to tell Betty she must go. "Will I see you again, Santos?"

"Count on it. One thing you learn here: It ain't over 'til it's over." He flings open the door to the left and saunters through as though he were entering a nightclub. "Catch you later, Betty!"

After that, she's only in the corridor as long as it takes her to turn toward the door to the right, and then there's light everywhere, all around her, as she feels herself falling farther and farther from the world she knew.


	4. Chapter 4

Four. 

Daniel sits in the waiting room, trying very hard not to look at the bouquet Christina brought. She set out for the hospital at 6 a.m., with only his first happy text message as a guide, and somehow found a flower shop open at that hour. So they have a bunch of lilies and tulips and balloons that say "Congratulations!" in front of them as they sit together, sick with dread.

"Do you need some coffee?" Christina asks him. "A soda, maybe. Caffeine in any form probably wouldn't go wrong about now. Are you hungry? The cafeteria downstairs has something that might be a Danish. Or it could be scrambled eggs. Can't tell which. It's not really the best cafeteria."

"I'm okay," Daniel says. "Or I would be if they'd come back and talk to us again."

The last update wasn't good. Betty isn't breathing on her own yet. Her body is still bleeding more than anyone should be able to bleed and stay alive. They're giving her transfusions. Daniel offered to donate, but they said it wasn't necessary, and besides – he and Betty aren't the same type.

Figures, he thinks.

"How long before you can see the wee lad?" Christina asks. "Which is to say, how long before I can see him? I could do with some baby-snuggling about now."

"Me too." Daniel rubs the heels of his hands against his eyelids in an attempt to rouse himself. "Eight hours, they said. That was not quite four hours ago. So we're halfway there."

Christina nods. "Good. That's good."

She pats him stiffly on the shoulder. Despite their shared love for Betty, they've never been close. The thing with her helping frame his dad for murder was weird, plus the whole William surrogacy misunderstanding was weird, and then there was that time she caught him having sex in the Closet with a Brazilian model, right on top of the samples from Armani … basically, there's no shortage of weird in their relationship. Back when he and Betty first hooked up, they went on one double-date with Christina and Stuart. Although Stuart seems like a nice enough guy, he and Daniel have exactly one thing in common: past issues with drugs, which doesn't exactly make for easy dinner-table conversation. The whole evening turned into an exercise in awkwardness. Since then, the ladies have hung out on their own, and Daniel's been content with that. Despite everything, he's grateful Christina's here now.

His cell phone rings again, and he snatches it up. "Hello?"

"It's me again," says his mother. Claire sounds as bad as he feels. "Any news?"

"Nothing yet."

"I can't stand this. None of us can."

"Us?"

"I'm in Queens. Pacing the floor alone at the mansion wasn't doing any good, so I came out here. Now we can all pace together." In the background, he hears Ignacio Suarez; it sounds like he's offering Claire some coffee. It must be around two a.m. there. "How are you holding up?"

"Crappy. I just wish they'd tell me something else." But he doesn't really mean that, does he? If the news is bad, he never wants to hear it. Daniel would rather just – stay here. He imagines a life led in this waiting room, with the cold white tile and the horribly ironic bouquet, and understands why people used to believe in a place called purgatory. "I didn't even know I could be this scared."

"That's it," Claire says, her voice suddenly decisive. "I'm calling the jet service and arranging a flight to London within two hours. We'll be there by – mid-afternoon, your time?"

In the background, Daniel hears Ignacio say, "But, Claire – that's got to cost a lot of money."

To him, Claire says, "Oh, to hell with the cost. This is all the damned money has ever been good for." Then she returns her attention back to her son. "We'll be there soon."

"Mom – thanks. I mean it. Love you."

"Love you too." She hangs up, the better to start harassing some people at the airport. Daniel tiredly slips the phone back into his pocket – then sits up straight as Doctor Prasad walks back in. Somehow she looks even worse than before.

Christina sees it too. "D'ya want me to stay or go?"

"Stay." In some ways it feels wrong for anyone to witness this; it's as private a moment as Daniel has ever known. But, like Hilda said about being alone at times like these: Screw that.

Doctor Prasad doesn't sit down this time; she's in a hurry. "I'm afraid Betty's still hemorrhaging."

"Damn it," Daniel says, and Christina clutches at his arm.

"As long as she's bleeding this heavily, it's impossible to stabilize her condition. She's still not breathing on her own, and if her heart stops again – obviously, the risks multiply."

_Everything's going to be all right_, Daniel tells himself again, but the words are hollow now.

"This is when we begin looking at extraordinary measures," the doctor says. "The worst bleeding is postpartum. We might be able to stop it."

"Then why are we sitting here talking?" Daniel snaps, then stops himself. "Sorry. Just – if there's a way to help her that you haven't tried yet, I don't understand why."

Doctor Prasad says, "Because the best way to stop that bleeding would be by performing a uterine hysterectomy. Obviously we'll need your consent."

At first Daniel can't even process the word enough to think about it. "How – how does that help? If she's bleeding, you shouldn't – why would you cut into her again?"

"The uterus won't stop bleeding from postpartum and post-Caesarian trauma. If we remove it, we can cauterize –" Everything else she says vanishes into a blur, because Daniel can only envision them cutting into his Betty, carving her into pieces, burning her from the inside out, and for a moment he thinks he's going to throw up.

As he focuses again, the doctor is saying, "I know this is difficult, and it's not something I like to suggest for any patient so young, particularly one with only a single child. I wouldn't recommend it if I didn't think it was necessary."

A uterine hysterectomy means that he and Betty will never have any more babies. And he has to make this decision before knowing for certain that the one son they have is going to be all right. Daniel swallows hard. "If you don't operate?"

"Then we'll keep transfusing her," Doctor Prasad says. "But that only sustains the body for so long." She doesn't have to add that Betty is already nearing the edge of that time.

All the time, he's been telling himself, _It's going to be all right._ But now there's no way everything can be all right, not ever again. He doesn't get to erase this; they won't heal like it never happened. The wound that opened tonight will scar them both forever. He pushes that realization away, trying to hide from it: Couldn't he hold on for now? Hope for Betty to get better on her own? Wait and see?

For a moment, he wavers. Daniel wants to look around for someone else to talk to, somebody who will explain what decision to make. But then he realizes that the person he's always turned to is Betty, and Betty's the one who needs him now.

It turns out that it's easier to be strong for her than it is for himself.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, facing the worst head-on. Betty had wanted a whole houseful of children; he never did until he fell in love with her, and until those future kids were also hers. Then he could imagine having a dozen. This is the death of one of their most important dreams.

But if their dream has to die to save her, then there's only one choice he can make. "Do it," he says.

Doctor Prasad doesn't even speak as she thrusts the forms at him; Daniel signs with a shaky hand. Once he's done, she nods as she starts jogging back out of the room, hurrying because there's no time to lose.

After a few seconds of terrible silence, Christina says, "I'm so sorry, Daniel. What a trite thing to say at such a time, but it's true. Plus it's all I've got."

"It's enough. Seriously – thanks for being here."

"You just never think anything like this will really come to pass, you know?" She runs her hands through her long blonde hair. "That a young, healthy woman's body can simply … fail her."

"It can happen."

He says it as evenly as he can, but Christina gasps in horror. "Oh, Christ, I'm the biggest arsehole in the world. I wasn't thinking. Daniel, please forgive me."

"It's okay." Daniel thinks of Molly, gone nearly seven years now. She taught him many lessons – among them, that the worst-case scenario can really come true.


	5. Chapter 5

Five. 

Betty is sitting on a staircase, or something similar. She's not sure you can make a staircase out of glass. It would break, right? But she can see right through the steps to a field of starry snow far, far beneath her. When she looks up, she sees rushing water. It's as if the ceiling is a rushing brook. _ Pretty_, she thinks, and she smiles.

Once again, there's no rush. No such thing as time. But there's an even deeper sense of peace and well-being. Betty doesn't know where she is, exactly, but she likes this place.

"The river on the ceiling is a nice touch, huh?" Molly says.

She's sitting on the stairs too, a few steps lower than Betty herself. Molly is wearing a gorgeous red satin evening gown. Of course: She was getting ready for the magazine awards that night. "Everybody in the afterlife is better dressed than me," Betty sighs.

"Not everybody. There's this one guy, Frank? Died of heatstroke while he was substituting as the mascot at a major-league baseball game." Molly shakes her head. "Imagine facing eternity dressed as the San Diego chicken."

"Okay," Betty admits. "That's worse."

"At least the chicken costume covers his ass," says Bradford Meade, who's coming up the stairs behind Molly. He pulls at the hem of his hospital gown in disgust. "Got you too, huh?" Glancing at her own gown, Betty nods in commiseration.

"Where are we?" she says. Again, it's not a hugely suspenseful question for her; she may not know the answer, but she feels certain she'll understand it as soon as she hears it.

"Very close to the end." Molly looks across into the foggy, indistinct distance. "You can find people here. Even travel, if you need to. I chose to see Daniel one last time; I think he saw me too."

"He did!" Betty perks up with excitement. "He absolutely saw you that night. Daniel even kept asking where you were."

"I wish he'd been there when I died. I think it might have helped him to accept it," Molly says. "But he got through okay, didn't he?"

"It took him a while, but yeah." Suddenly Betty feels awkward. "Um, I should probably mention that Daniel and I got married a few years later."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Bradford says, "Good Lord. I can't believe it." Just as Betty's on the verge of being offended, he adds, "I never realized Daniel had that much sense."

"You guys always had that connection," Molly muses. "Even when things were intense for us, he always made time for you. Worried about you. I should've guessed this was how things would go." A smile spreads across her face. "God, I'm so relieved."

"Relieved?" Betty's fairly relieved herself at the moment.

"I wanted him to be with somebody who really loved him for himself," Molly says simply. "You two must be perfect together."

"I don't know about perfect, but – we're good." Betty smiles back, and realizes that she doesn't feel any jealousy of her own. Love doesn't work that way here. Daniel can belong to each of them entirely, and it's not a paradox or a contradiction.

Bradford and Molly exchange a look, then Molly asks, "How is he?"

"Daniel's … wonderful." The memory of him flows through her, and Betty feels her love for him as tangibly as she would the softness of a blanket. It's not as though she forgot him before, but it wasn't the moment to think about him yet; it is now. Every experience they've had together seems to happen all over again, all at once, a kind of kaleidoscope spinning within her: singing Sonny and Cher at karaoke, eating Chinese food as they worked late on a photo edit, running into each other in Trafalgar Square, hurrying away from the angry crowd at the Blobbys, making love that time he pulled her into a little enclave in the park and they just went for it even though they could've been seen at any moment, taking the car service out to Queens, picking out her engagement ring, trying to figure out where the hell they were going on the Tube, yelling at each other during a stupid argument, sharing one sink as they brushed their teeth, dancing at Hilda's wedding, walking back up the runway side by side after Heinrich's fashion show. It's all part of one thing. "He's turned into such a good man. You'd both be so proud of him. Oh, he started this business called Crave that went over, like, huge. Which is great money-wise, I guess, but the best thing about it is that he knows he can stand on his own now. He didn't lean on anyone to make that happen. Daniel built it from the ground up. Well, of course, he had millions of dollars in venture capital, but he built it from there up."

Bradford folds his arms, smiling with satisfaction. "I admit I'm surprised. But pleasantly."

Betty turns her attention to Molly next. "And he's the most loving husband, but you knew that." Molly nods. "We've been really happy together. I mean, we have our ups and downs the same way anybody else does. But we know each other's faults. We accept each other, totally. It's been amazing; I wouldn't trade that journey with him for anything. And we just had a baby."

Bradford looks even prouder than before, and Molly makes little excited fists like she's about to cheer out loud. "Boy or girl?" Bradford asks.

"Don't know." For the first time since this – whatever this is – began, Betty feels a real sense of loss and sadness. Daniel was right; she should've let Doctor Prasad tell them. "I was in labor when this happened. But the baby's okay." She's not sure how she knows this, but she does.

Tilting her head to study Betty, Molly says, "Daniel's going to be a wonderful father."

"Yeah, he will." Betty can picture Daniel holding their child, and more than ever before, she realizes how deeply she trusts him. If has to raise the baby alone, he'll do it, and he'll love that child for both of them. Her baby couldn't be any safer or any better cared for. And that means Daniel will be loved in return. It's not the future they wanted together, but it's still a good life, one with happiness and purpose.

Molly rises to her feet, and both she and Bradford hold their hands out to Betty. "Will you come with us?" Molly asks. "You're welcome to."

Though Betty can't articulate how she knows it, she understands that this is one of the kindest invitations imaginable – this willingness to take her the rest of the way. She also understands that this is a gift they're offering her for Daniel's sake, one more proof of how long love lasts. But she shakes her head. "I want to go see Daniel one more time."

Bradford nods. "Do you need him to see you too?"

"No," Betty says. "I know that Daniel understands … everything I need him to understand. I just want to be close to him one more time." Then she frowns. "Wait, when you came back, why did you appear to me instead of him? And why in a Hawaiian shirt?"

"The Hawaiian shirt was better than this, wasn't it?" Bradford gestures again at the back of his hospital gown.

"Point taken," Betty says.

"As for why I came to you, well, I wasn't sure that Daniel was in a place where he could hear me," Bradford says. "You – you were the one he could always hear."

For the first time, it hits her that she's going to a place where Daniel won't be able to hear her any longer. It's not forever—she knows that, and that's what makes it bearable—but she feels the loss of what used to be.

"Go to him," Molly says, and she presses her fingers against Betty's forehead, just where yoga teachers claim the third eye is supposed to be. Just like that, Betty is blinded, not with darkness but by light.


	6. Chapter 6

Six. 

Daniel walks into the NICU, unsure of himself. "Shouldn't I have on a hospital gown or something?" he says. "Maybe gloves?"

"It's all right," the nurse says soothingly. "You're fine as you are."

He sees his son first as a bit of pink amid white sheets and way too much medical equipment. As he sits in the chair provided, the nurse lifts the baby out of the crib, blankets and all, and settles him in Daniel's waiting arms.

"There you go, then. That's your boy."

A few hours ago, Daniel felt like he would never smile again, but he can't help it now. The baby is so perfect. Okay, sort of like a large floppy tadpole, but perfect. The stocking cap pulled over his head is uneven, and Daniel finds himself straightening it with two fingers, making sure the baby stays warm.

"Hey, little guy," he says. "It's Dad."

His son opens his eyes just a bit. The expression on his pudgy face strikes Daniel as one of total weariness – and no wonder. The baby's had an even tougher day than his father.

The nurse is standing at enough of a remove to give Daniel some privacy, but she asks, "Do you have a name for him yet? We can put it in the records."

Daniel shakes his head. "No name yet." Betty will help him choose one; that's the plan, and he's sticking to it.

He folds his son deeper into his arms, relishing the soft in and out of the baby's breath. Despite all the exhaustion, fear and misery of the day, Daniel understands that, no matter what, he can go on. Whatever he has to do for his son, he can do.

And yet he misses Betty worse than ever. Daniel wants her in his life not only for himself now, but also for his son, who deserves an amazing mother like Betty. He hadn't known it was possible to need her even more.

After a few minutes, as they'd arranged, Christina comes tiptoeing into the room. A grin spreads across her face as she leans over them. "Look at the little fella! My God, he's beautiful."

"Thanks." Daniel traces one finger along the baby's cheek.

"He looks like you." She blinks, almost startled. "I mean, he looks_ just_ like you. It's borderline uncanny. Like someone held your face down on a Xerox machine."

Daniel half-laughs. "I guess so." He hadn't thought of it before, but now that he looks at the baby a little more closely, there is a certain resemblance. His heart swells with an almost stupid pride.

He offers the baby to Christina for a moment, and he notices how easily she scoops him up, how confident she is. If – if, God forbid, he has to do this on his own, Daniel realizes he'll be calling on Christina as the voice of experience. She's raised William from babyhood to school age, and William's walking, talking, healthy; how did Daniel never realize before now that Christina's a genius? He feels like he knows nothing, and he needs to learn so much.

As she cuddles the baby close, she says very quietly, "Are you angry at him?"

Daniel frowns. "At … my son?"

"It's not unheard of for a father to resent a child, when the mother – when she has such trouble with the delivery. And if you ask me how I know that, you're going to have to listen to umpteen chapters of tragic McKinney family history, which no man should have to endure without Scotch, and we've got no Scotch to hand, so what say we skip it?" Christina looks over at Daniel. "All I'm saying is, if you're feeling strange about this, don't beat yourself up about it. Others have been there."

"No, I'm not angry. I don't … blame him, anything like that. It's not his fault." Daniel feels another wave of protectiveness toward his son. For the first time he realizes that the baby might be all he has of Betty from now on, and the ferocity of his love startles him.

Christina nods, accepting this. "And he's healthy?"

"He's absolutely fine." Daniel reminds himself to be grateful for that gift, at least. If Betty had been given a choice—her life versus their baby's—he knows what would have been more important to her.

But there he goes again, falling into the trap of thinking she's already gone. He can't do that. Daniel knows he needs to prepare himself for the worst, but he refuses to give up hope.

Perhaps sensing his changeable mood, Christina glances over at Daniel, then hands the baby back to him. "There you go. Go see Daddy." As Daniel resettles himself in the chair, she says, "Shall I give you another few minutes?"

"Yeah, thanks." He smiles at Christina as she goes out.

Daniel closes his eyes, concentrating only on the weight of the baby in his arms –

And then, just like that, he knows Betty's near. He can feel her close by. It's the same way he knows even in the depths of sleep that she's sleeping next to him; she's just there.

He doesn't open his eyes because he senses that would shatter the moment. Betty's not watching him—she's with him, a part of him, holding the baby through his arms, connecting with life through the beating of his heart.

The sensation fades almost as quickly as it arose. When Daniel finally opens his wet eyes, he wonders if it was a dream, or wishful thinking. Maybe it's just his heart reminding him how badly he wants his wife back.

He holds his little boy as long as possible. Sometimes his fear and grief are almost subsumed by wonder: little hands and feet and nose and ears, the way his son is somehow fragile and perfect and goofy and beautiful all at the same time. Other times, the sadness wells up inside him to the extent that he almost feels as if the baby's presence in his arms is his only comfort –as if Daniel were the one being held.

Finally, though, another nurse appears and says the words he's been longing to hear for a while: "You can see your wife now."

He leaves the NICU and goes to the intensive care unit, or whatever they call it in England. Daniel believes seeing Betty will help until the moment that he does; he hadn't realized he had any denial left over until the second he sees her swaddled in bandages, laced with tubes, plastic shoved into her nose and mouth and veins. The broken, insensate body in front of him doesn't seem to have anything to do with the vital woman he knows, and for the first time, he confronts what Doctor Prasad said about brain damage – it seems possible that Betty is really, truly gone.

Daniel forces himself to focus on the heart monitor, on the steady up-and-down of the lines, the mechanical beeping that signals her pulse. She's still here. There's hope. Hanging onto that isn't denial; it's what he has to do to keep himself alive, the emotional equivalent of the machines connected to her. Life support.

Every hour of the exhaustion he feels from being awake and afraid all night weighs on him as he pulls a chair close to the side of Betty's hospital bed. He clasps the hand that doesn't have any IV needles and caresses it gently. She doesn't stir.

_Don't leave me_, he wants to say. _Stay with me, and our son. I need you more now than I ever have before. _

But Daniel's doesn't say it. If she can hear him – and if she can't stay, if it's not her choice to make – he doesn't want the last thing Betty hears from him to sound like blame for something she can't help.

Instead he puts her hand to the side of his face and says only, "I love you completely."

The only answer is silence, and the beeping of the heart monitors.


	7. Chapter 7

Seven. 

The light fades, and Betty blinks. Once again, she's looking up at the flowing water, or down at the snow. She knows she just went to see Daniel, though "seeing" isn't the right word for what happened. The sense of happiness wars with her sense of loss, and for the first time since this otherworldly experience began, Betty's upset. What should she do? How should she feel?

Then she realizes that someone else is approaching her, from the top of the steps this time. Betty blinks against the light, trying to make out the face, but all she sees is the shape – that of a woman, not very tall, not very thin, with curly hair and a big smile –

"Mom!" Betty cries, and she leaps up the steps into her mother's embrace.

"_Mija_." Her mother's hands stroke Betty's hair, just the way she used to when Betty was a little girl upset about teasing at school. "How I missed you."

"I missed you too. So much." Betty would have sworn tears were impossible in this place, but it turns out she can cry just fine. "_Mami,_ I never told you how much I loved you. Or I didn't tell you enough. I felt so bad about that."

"Shhh, Betty. I knew. Mothers always know."

Betty just hugs her even tighter.

When at last they pull apart, Betty can't speak; she just basks in the warmth of her mother's smile. Mom takes both of her hands. "Tell me, _mija_. How are you?" It's obvious that she doesn't mean right now, this second. She wants to know about the entirety of Betty's life at the moment she left it.

So Betty shows her.

It's as if she relives her life, fully and wholly in every moment, somehow both in real time and in the space of one breath. But this time, Mami is there, with her and Dad and Hilda and Justin for all of it. They go to Betty's high-school graduation. They welcome Walter for Thanksgiving with the family. They see Justin dancing in a sailor suit at his first recital. They eat Papi's cupcakes. They take the subway to Coney Island and eat cotton candy on the boardwalk. They run through Queens College, late for class. They watch Hilda pin on her Herbalife button. They play in the snow. They walk through the Tube at MODE and meet Amanda. They watch telenovelas as a family, curled on the sofa together late at night. They watch Daniel proudly point out "his" ornament on the Christmas tree. When Betty cries of a broken heart because Henry's having a baby with someone else, this time her mother holds her. When Betty gets a job offer in London, this time her mother cheers and helps her pack. And when Betty gets married to Daniel in St. Patrick's Cathedral, this time her mother sits beside Papi and smiles.

"Tell me more about him," Mami says. "This man you married."

Daniel's the one her mother needs to "meet," Betty realizes; she knows Papi, Hilda and Justin so deeply that she can understand everything without Betty saying more. How to begin? "Do you remember the make-believe guy I invented in my diary and used to daydream about when I was a little girl?"

"The singing prince who owned the pony ranch?"

"Daniel's even better than that guy. He was the first person outside our family who believed in me, who took a chance on me. His background is totally different than mine, but that's good, you know? We see more in the world because we're together. He takes care of me and understands me and makes me laugh – even if he is a little needy, and scared of holograms. We love each other so much, and we just had a baby."

Her mother nods. "I always knew good things were going to come to you, Betty. But I'm glad to hear it all the same."

Betty realizes that the snow and the river are gone. She and Mom are standing on the glass stairs, and around them is … nothing. It's not darkness; it's not anything. It's literally nothingness. "What happens now?" she whispers.

"You have a choice to make," Mom says. "Not everyone gets a choice – God knows I didn't. But you do."

"I can choose to live again," Betty says, understanding immediately. "Or I can choose to stay with you."

"There's no wrong choice, my Betty. You'll be with the ones you love again, no matter what. Life is a gift, but it's a curse too; while you live, anything can change, and not always for the better. There's betrayal there. And sickness, and pain. But … it's life. Nothing is more beautiful."

Betty looks into the distance, and it's not nothing any longer – it's a kaleidoscope again, but not of things that were. These are things that might be. And some of them are beautiful: Sitting on the porch of Alexis' home in Provence, watching Daniel play in the garden with their young child. Going home to New York for Christmas every year, rejoicing in their friends and family anew. Hearing viewers talk about how her shows make them believe in themselves, how they are stronger for hearing her message. Walking along a street in London, Daniel's wrinkled hand in hers, both of them white-haired and slow of step but still happy to be together.

But some of the things that might yet come to pass aren't beautiful at all.

Daniel, dropping dead of a heart attack at age 54, leaving her suddenly, terribly alone.

Hilda and Bobby breaking up over years of crying, anger and custody battles.

The children she wanted to have stolen from her by her own broken body.

Ratings for her show fall off so completely that they're canceled, leaving Betty out of work and without a purpose.

Daniel cheating on her with some young, silly girl from his office, all the more painful for being so predictable. Her cheating on Daniel because they were in a rough patch and she was in Rome – and Gio was divorced and they drank wine together and got to talking too long about "unfinished business" between them.

Car accidents. Cancer. Arguments Unhappiness. It's too much to look at, too much to bear. Betty knows that all those bad things aren't going to happen – some of them cancel each other out – but any of them could happen, and even the possibility is terrible to behold. Dying doesn't seem so bad when it seems like a way to avoid all these potential avenues toward pain.

But if she doesn't look at the ugly things, she can't see the beautiful.

Her mother says, "You need to choose between here and there. Between stopping and going on."

Betty says, "I don't want to leave you, Mom. I've missed you so much."

"If you leave me, it will only be for a little while. But I've missed you too." Mom frames Betty's face in her hands, the way she used to just before she kissed her good night after tucking her in. "There's only one thing to ask yourself. _Mija_, do you want more life?"

Hoping for all the good means risking all the bad.

Betty remembers visiting Daniel, and feeling his love for her – and the weight of their child in his arms.

"Yes," she says. "I know it's hard. But I want to go back. I want more."

Her mother lets go of her face, and for a moment, the parting is as painful as death.

"Mom—" Betty says, once again overcome, and not knowing what to say.

"Shh, Betty. We'll meet again." She smiles, and it hurts Betty's heart –

-no, wait. That's real pain. That's drugs and breath and weight and stitches and nausea and tubes and other awful things.

That's life.


	8. Chapter 8

Eight. 

Daniel stands in the corner of Betty's hospital room. He shouldn't feel as relieved as he does: She still hasn't woken up. There's no guarantee that she ever will, or that if she does, she will be herself. But she's breathing on her own. The hemorrhaging has stopped. They've moved her to this private room. Daniel's just grateful to see her face without the breathing tube, to be able to be alone with her again.

In the corner of the room is the crib, in which their baby dozes. Asking for an infant to sleep in is uncommon here, particularly when the mother is in such critical medical condition, but Daniel insisted. He needs their son near, and he wants them together as a family – for however long, or in whatever way, they can be.

He's utterly drained. His heavy head aches. But there's no way he could sleep just now; it feels like he might never sleep again.

There's a rap at the door, and Daniel turns, expecting the nurse. But when the door opens, he breathes out in relief. "_Mom_."

Claire comes to him and folds him tightly in her arms. Behind her are Ignacio Suarez and Hilda and Bobby Tercino. Daniel embraces each of them in turn.

"We came as fast as we could," Claire says. "No change since we spoke last?"

"No. But – it feels better just being in this room, you know? And having the baby with us. Speaking of which, where's Stephanie?"

"With my mom and pop," Bobby says. "We couldn't get Justin out to NYC to fly over with us, but Claire here bought him a ticket for tomorrow."

Claire smiles thinly; she prefers her kinder gestures to go unthanked. But her expression softens as she leans over her grandson's crib. "My God, Daniel. He looks just like you did when you were a newborn."

As Claire picks up the baby and hands him to a red-eyed Ignacio, Daniel hugs Hilda tightly, thanking her without words for being there for him on the phone when everything went to hell. Her long-nailed hands rest on his shoulders. "How are you holding up?" she says.

"I'm all right." Which seems like a lie, but Daniel knows better than to complain about his grief to Betty's sister, who loves her just as much.

Of all people, it's Bobby who walks close to Betty first. He shakes his head. "You gotta get well, Chipmunk."

Betty murmurs, "Don't call me Chipmunk."

A moment of shocked silence – and then Daniel's at her side, clutching her hand again. "Betty? Betty, can you hear me?"

"Yeah." And she's alive, she's awake, she's even opening her eyes and blinking first at Bobby right in front of her, then at Daniel. "Daniel?"

"It's me, sweetheart. I'm right here."

"Everything hurts."

Daniel's torn between concern for her and overwhelming relief. She's hurting and she's torn up but she's alive, and she's herself. "We'll take care of you," he says, though his throat is so tight it hurts to talk.

"Oh, thank you, Jesus." Hilda clasps her hands together, as Claire hugs Daniel from behind.

Ignacio steps closer. "_Mija_, do you know who the president of the United States is? How about the capital of France?"

"Why are you asking me that stuff? Did I get hit on the head?" As she looks up at Daniel, she manages a weak little smile for him. "You look awful. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. So much better than fine."

"Shouldn't we get a nurse or a doctor or something?" Hilda heads for the door. "I'm getting somebody in this room if I have to drag them here by their hair."

As she jogs out, Claire murmurs, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that, because I'm pretty sure she means it."

Without being asked, Ignacio hands the baby to Daniel. So it's Daniel who lowers him down for Betty to see for the very first time. "Here's our son."

Betty's eyes light up. "Oh, my God. Daniel, he's beautiful."

"Yeah, he is." At last Daniel feels the terrible fear slipping away; the joy that had been walled away before bursts free for a moment. It's all going to be okay after all – the last day seems like nothing more than a bad dream.

Except, of course, that it wasn't – but no, he won't think about that yet, not now.

"Hey, sweetie." Betty feebly attempts to stroke the baby's arm, but she's still so weak. The light in her eyes is as radiant as ever, though. "Mommy's glad to see you. Wow, do you look like your daddy."

Daniel looks up at Bobby and says, "I think we have to name the baby after you."

"I get a kid named after me?" Bobby smiles incredulously. "Cool."

Daniel's next instinct is to nestle the baby next to her, but then Doctor Prasad is there, and half a dozen nurses, and everyone has to step out so that they can check her fully. Their son is wheeled back to the nursery, and everyone hugs each other about a dozen times.

After a little while, Ignacio, Hilda and Bobby decide to go get them all checked into their hotel; they came here straight from the airport, and a very disgruntled limo driver is currently watching their bags. Claire promises to be along in a second.

Daniel pulls out his iPhone. "I need to text Christina right away. And I should – God, I need to let the nanny know her start date, and I should probably get a nurse for Betty for at least the first few weeks-"

"Daniel." His mother's voice is oddly firm as she puts her hand on his shoulder. "It's over. And Betty's going to be okay."

"Not okay," he says. "I'll have to tell her about the hysterectomy – I need to tell her before the doctors do."

"Betty will understand that you made the only choice you could."

Will she? Daniel's not sure he understands himself. Now that she's awake and talking, the terrible danger that motivated him seems more distant. And Betty's still so fragile – the last thing he wants to do is hurt her, but he knows nothing will hurt more than telling her they can't have more children.

And yet she's alive. She's here.

His eyes fill with the tears he tried so hard to fight back all night. Wordlessly, his mother folds him in her arms, and Daniel just lets go. He doesn't know if he's crying from grief or joy. Both, probably. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that he has Betty back.


	9. Chapter 9

Nine. 

They decide on Roberto, which is not Bobby's name but is awfully close, and are calling the baby Rob for short. It took almost two weeks for Doctor Prasad to clear Betty to return home, but they're there now, finding their new patterns as a family and – in another couple of weeks – preparing for their first Christmas with the baby. Everyone who was here before will fly back, and more people besides: Tyler will bring Amanda, Justin's inviting his new boyfriend, and DJ, Alexis and Gareth will be here too, though in Gareth's case that will be at least partly to collect on that case of Glenfiddich Betty owes him. It's going to be a beautiful Christmas, almost exactly like the holiday of her dreams – but not quite.

Betty thinks with a pang of the Estella that will never be, and puts her free hand over her belly. The raised scar of her Caesarian is warm against her palm. When Daniel first told her about the hysterectomy, she wept for the rest of the day; she knows she hasn't cried her last about it. But shock is settling – slowly – into acceptance.

Daniel, who is sitting next to her on their bed at home, notices the gesture and understands what it means without being told. "Did I do the right thing?" he asks quietly, and she hears the echo of her own loss.

"You did the right thing." She turns her face to him. "The only thing you could do."

"Still," he says, and his voice is uneven.

Bringing her hand to the side of his face, Betty says, "That was probably the moment I most needed you to be strong for me. And you were. You saved my life, Daniel. Never forget that."

"I'm just sorry that was the price."

"Me too." Her voice is the one breaking now. Daniel leans his forehead against hers, and for a few moments, they're silent together, sharing the pain they both feel. Betty already knows that she'll never get over losing the chance to carry more children, and Daniel won't get over it either. This is a weight they will always have to bear. But it helps knowing they carry it together.

"We'll get through this," Daniel murmurs, reminding them both.

Betty covers one of his hands with her own. "We can still have a big family. There are ways. For instance, we could get a surrogate." Then there's a pause as each of them thinks of the craziness surrounding Wilhelmina, Christina and baby William. She adds, more brightly, "Or, we could adopt."

"Adoption. I could do that. Maybe in a few years." His voice is gentle. "Whatever we need to do to create the family we want – we'll do it."

"And so what if it's not that usual way?" It costs her something to summon up that much bravado, but she means it, and her smile is real. "Like anything about us was ever conventional."

"True." Daniel settles his head onto her shoulder. "But right now, I like our family the way it is."

Rob finished nursing a few minutes ago; for now he's dozing between wakefulness and sleep in her lap. The nanny and her home health aide will arrive in a couple hours, and Betty's grateful for the help, but she likes these early morning feedings, when it's just her and Daniel and their baby. She likes it even when the baby cries and won't eat, or when her boobs leak milk onto the mattress, or when Daniel wakes up grumpy at 3 a.m. That's life.

Something about that jogs her memory. "Daniel, I think – when I was out, and I nearly died – I think I had one of those out of body experiences."

"Really?" He lifts his head to meet her eyes, and apparently he can see that she's serious. "Whoa. Were you, like, floating above your hospital bed? Could you see us around you?"

"It wasn't like that," Betty says, but she can't think what it was like. The experience is there, but veiled, so that she can no longer call it to mind precisely. "I think there was a lot of bright light, and these feelings of – just the most intense love." Then she frowns. "Also maybe there was something about the San Diego chicken." When Daniel stares at her, she sighs. "Okay, probably that part was the drugs. But I know something happened. Something beautiful."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't 'go into the light' or whatever." Daniel kisses her cheek, and she can feel his morning stubble against her skin. "I prefer having you here with me and Roberto."

Rob is on the verge of dozing off, so Betty hands him over to Daniel, who folds him against his shoulder and pats his back. After Rob emits a burp so loud it would stun Homer Simpson, they get him back to his crib; luckily, he's a good sleeper so far. The little stuffed giraffe is nestled nearby.

This is normally when they collapse back into bed to get as much rest as they can before Rob awakes again and the day begins, but this time, after they lie down, Betty snuggles closer to Daniel and strokes one hand along his bare chest. "Are you really tired?" she asks. "Or could you – stay awake a while longer?"

Daniel raises one eyebrow. "You know we're not supposed to yet."

"I know. But there's other stuff we could do."

He gives her that lopsided grin she loves so much. "Then I think I could stay awake a while longer."

As they kiss, and his arms slip around her, Betty thinks she remembers something else from that mysterious time between life and death – something about a choice between here and heaven. But that can't be right, because it seems to her that there's no difference between the two, no difference at all.


End file.
